The dust billowed up into the clear, blue sky. At least, she thought it was blue – somewhere up there, past the endless billows of dust. The little wooden shack she called home sat in the midst of hundreds of other wooden shacks, each indistinguishable to outsiders. If one didn’t know whose home was whose, they would never find it amidst the mess. There were no pretty mailboxes with PO Box numbers stenciled on the side. The houses didn’t have brass numbers nailed next to the doors. The houses were just there – a refuge against rain, wind, and sun. A place to lay down at night. A place to be born and to die. Nothing more. Sometimes much less.

She sat next to the road, waiting for the “ding ding” of the bell behind the garbage truck. The garbage truck only came once a week and one had to run with all the trash their household had accumulated, down the road to the truck to throw it inside. If they were late, the trash would just keep piling up until the following week. This wouldn’t be such an issue except that there was nowhere to go with the trash and the wild dogs had the tendency of tearing into the trash and spreading it throughout the already dirty neighborhood. Trash day, much like water day, was very important.

The “ding ding” sounded from a distance. She stood up and grabbed the three, small bags next to her. She slid her feet into the dust-covered sandals and catapulted down the street. They lived about a half a kilometer from the main road and it was all downhill. She could feel her feet gaining momentum and before she knew it, the loose gravel had started to slide, taking her feet with her. She landed hard on her back side, jarring the bags of garbage loose from her hands. She continued to slide and lost her balance completely. The last thing she remembered was seeing her feet flying above her head.

“Do you think she has a concussion?”

The English words reverberated in her head. It felt as if someone was pounding her skull with a hammer with every word that was spoken. She didn’t understand any of the words and she began to force herself to regain consciousness. But, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to lift the weight that was holding down her eyelids. She slowly let herself fade again.

I’m not quite sure where I’m going with this… but it’s based on what I’ve experienced here. We’ll see how it turns out. I’m thinking if I want to write on “I Heard the Bells” I’ll need a different perspective. Hmm… the wheels have begun to turn! 🙂 Por Fin!

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